


You Hit Me Like A Cosmic Blast

by NymphettEcho



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Like Glacial Slow, Slow Burn, Star Trek - Freeform, Star Trek TOS
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-24
Updated: 2017-07-24
Packaged: 2018-12-06 06:44:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11595093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NymphettEcho/pseuds/NymphettEcho
Summary: I awaken from a cryogenic state two centuries into the future. A very convincing doctor persuades me to accept Starfleet's offer to join its new Deep Space Program. The starship I will be joining as part guest, part Old Earth leading authority is the USS Enterprise. The perks? Constant contact with tall, dark, handsome, and pointy-ears!





	1. Awakening

**Author's Note:**

> Hello. I originally posted this fic on fanfiction(dot)net. I decided to post it here as well. Hope you enjoy :)

Stardate 2266

 

It’s been three days since I awoke from a frozen cryogenic state. Out of the five-hundred or so test subjects, I am the sole survivor. The doctors have explained that the cryogenic process was still too primitive at the time it was attempted on us to last any extended amount of time. When we were found only six people had functioning pods. Of those six, only two were alive. The one man who was revived before me died. Apparently, he experienced a heart-attack after coming into consciousness in a roomful of human and extraterrestrial medical professionals. From that resuscitation effort forward, only human doctors were permitted into the emergency room.

 

When my turn came around, I came to in a banal, sterilized yet unsettling iridescent white room. The crinkled faces of weary doctors peered down at me with relief.

 

Turns out, the “batch” of cryos I came from had been lost in an underground storage unit. I’ve been told that the private medical group that initially experimented on us with full body cryogenic freezing went bankrupt within a year of the trial. Another medical group took over the project. According to the best available data, the batch of cryos I belong to were prototypes for deep space traveling pods. The minimum time allotted for us to slumber was 20 years, with the maximum time limit at 85 years due to security measures. However, the medical facility was shut down due to unethical experimentation. The exact reasons are unclear. From there we were transported to a government facility where our observation continued. The U.S. was very much interested in suspended space travel.

 

Then the Eugenics War broke out. Even though we were a large quantity of misplaced people, no one cared enough for a bunch of frozen bodies in the middle of a World War. Later in Earth’s history, the alien planet Vulcan made contact with Earth – I don’t know all the details. I believe there were a couple more major wars. By that time us cryos were beyond our due date. And yet, over a hundred more years passed before we were discovered in an abandoned underground storage unit.

 

From what I understand, we are the find of the century. And I am the only surviving, living artifact from my time.

 

_Over two-hundred years._ My head does a dizzying somersault, stomach twisting itself into knots. I push away the bland pale-yellow soup the kindly nurse has been attempting to make me swallow. His brown scaly skin wrinkles at his forehead as he stares at me in exasperation.

 

“You must eat,” he urges in an unintelligible accent.

 

I nod and stick another spoonful of dinner into my mouth, trying to appease him. He’ll probably be reprimanded if he allows his charge to die of malnutrition. Unfortunately, my stomach is not as good natured as my intentions and I regurgitate the little I manage to swallow.

 

“I am so sorry!” My eyes water from embarrassment, apology, and fatigue. I wipe my mouth on the sleeve of my hospital gown and move to clean the mess I have made but the nurse stops me.

 

“No, no. I will call for assistance. Your body is still adjusting to heavy liquids. Rinse your mouth and we will try again. Just a little more and you may rest.” His gentle reassuring voice is what I image a nurse should sound like.

 

I nod again, unable to speak from exhaustion. I manage to drink about half of the broth this time without any ill effects. Two hundred-fifty years without using my stomach, among other things, has left my bodily functions working at a dangerously sub-par level. I cannot eat solids, it is strictly forbidden until otherwise instructed by my personal physician. It could kill me.

 

My respiratory system, digestive system, circulatory system, and motor skills have all suffered due to their near three-hundred years of misuse. The doctor says that by all standards I should be dead, given the circumstances. Yet here I am. I can still hear her clear voice ringing in my ears.

 

Just earlier today she informed me that further investigation revealed the man who had been revived before me did not die of a heart-attack triggered by his new surroundings but by the fact that his circulatory system was no longer fully operational. He had been in a suspended state too long. We were not the first batch of cryos attempted to be revived, but we were by far the oldest.

 

“The human body simply cannot withstand a comatose state for so long,” she said to me earlier this morning.

 

My successful consumption of the broth has earned me the right to rest. The six steps from the table to the bed seem infinitely distant. For someone who has slept for so long, I am surprisingly drained. I have so many questions and so many things I want to see, but my body will not keep up. All it wants to do is sleep. Dr. Lenora says I should make a full recovery within months. The process is radically aided by the current medical technology. To be honest, they don’t even look like medical supplies. Instead of a MRI and x-rays, medical professionals now use a tricorder. A medical tricorder to be exact. The small, square, hand-held device has a short detachable wand that scans the body and transmits the data back into the main hand-held device.

 

Thrkjul, the scaly nurse on shift, silently backs out of the hospital room. I am left alone to rest. However, this small iridescent room with nothing but the hum of medical instruments to break the heavy silence offers no comfort.

 

I fall asleep to the buzzing of the instruments enclosing the area around my bed. The colorful flashing of reds and greens from the machines are bursts of fireworks beneath closed eyelids. When I awake again, the same hum of whirring machinery greets my ears. It is impossible to tell night from day inside this windowless room.

 

I pry my eyes open and they register Dr. Lenora silently monitoring the machines at my bedside.

 

“Good morning, Ms. Luna.”

 

“Hi, doctor. Is it really morning again?” I reply.

 

She chuckles. “Yes, and it is now time for your daily checkup.” She detaches the cylindrical wand from the medical tricorder and methodically scans my body with it from head to toe.

 

“Well, your vitals are improving. Despite the fact that you have been under intense medical treatment and observation for only two weeks, your body is recovering remarkably. It is good you were frozen at such a young age. Your cells react and heal themselves as if you were twenty-one.”

 

“I _am_ twenty-one.” I remind her. For me, I was put to sleep what seems like yesterday. Reality seems more like a dream.

 

“Yes, well,” she clears her throat, “I come bearing exciting news.” Her perfect smile accentuates her richly pigmented skin. “You have been selected to partake in a Starfleet space exploration mission.”

 

“What?” . . . I can’t even. “I haven’t signed up for anything.” I hear my own confusion ringing in my ears. “Have I been drafted or something?”

 

“No, no. Of course not. This is an honor,” she assures me. “When Starfleet received word of the circumstances surrounding your extraordinary story, they immediately contacted us. They wanted permission to add your presence to the new space exploration program.”

 

“But I haven’t even been able to leave this room, let alone go outside. How can you ship me off into space?”

 

Evidently, Dr. Lenora hears the incredulous tone in my voice. “Actually, I already had you scheduled to begin gross motor skills therapy in the outdoor garden at the beginning of next week. Even though you feel tired, your body is strong enough to begin strengthening your muscles.” She continues earnestly, “I felt comfortable giving my professional approval. The ship is equipped with topnotch medical facilities. The science and medical staff are the best in their fields. If I felt your condition would be put at greater risk I would not have given my consent.”

 

“But _I_ never gave consent. I never even agreed to have my information released. And who or what is Starfleet?”

 

“I understand your apprehension but the Earth you knew and the Earth now is vastly changed, I’m sure. Starfleet is the United Federation of Planets’ peace-keeping and defense entity. The mission you are being given the opportunity to join is in the name of exploration; possibly forging the way for new alliances and peaceful trading. This could be an amazing chance for you to learn the most about your new surroundings and build a life for yourself.”

 

I see the sense in her words, but I am still ill at ease. “Why exactly does Starfleet want me?”

 

It is her turn to look slightly uncomfortable. “You are from two centuries and a half ago,” she explains “they have arranged for a science officer to interview you to learn as much as possible about Old Earth. You in turn will can ask all you wish, of course.” She smiles genuinely.

 

I know she means well. I can see it in her eyes. But deep space? “I need some time. I need to think about this.”

 

“Alright.” She gives my arm a reassuring squeeze. “The Enterprise is set for departure two days from now. You will be the final addition to the crew, so I am told.” She turns to leave.

 

“Wait. Dr. Lenora, I was wondering. . .”

 

“Yes?” She shoots me a quizzical look.

 

“You wouldn’t happen to know where my belongings are, would you? We were allowed to bring a small box with us on our pod.”

 

Her brow creases. “I was unaware of any possessions placed inside the pods.”

 

“That’s because the boxes weren’t put inside with us. There should be a long indentation around the rear of the pod. Push it. The compartment will pop open.”

 

“I see.” Her eyes take on a pensive gaze. “I’ll have your pod checked and your possessions returned to you.”

 

“Thanks.” I say relieved. Her heels clack as she makes her way to the door leaving me to my ceaseless thoughts.


	2. Settling In

Sitting in my wheelchair I attempt to soak in every detail of my surroundings as I am pushed to a Starfleet base by a hospital nurse. The reflective surface of sky scrapers disappear far above the clouds. I am constantly reminding myself to clamp my mouth shut. In my eyes, Earth has become a beautiful heterogeneous collage of peoples. Humans from all corners of the earth share the same space as all different kinds of extraterrestrials. However, the bustling of people in the streets rushing to and from their destinations has remained unchanged in the passage of time.

We arrive at the Starfleet base across the street. The particular building I am heading toward is not a skyscraper but a long and beige three story edifice. The majority of the exterior walls consist of enormous glass panels.

I notice a man wearing some sort of blue and black uniform heading my way. "Ms. Luna, please follow me."

The nurse steering my chair obliges for me. I wonder how he knows what I look like. "Excuse me, but where is the ship I am supposed to board, the USS Enterprise? I haven't seen any launching pads or docked space ships."

"Do not worry, Ms. Luna. You are in the right place. You will be boarding from inside this building."

I eye the edifice skeptically. According to my knowledge, space ships are huge. I cannot imagine one fitting inside that building. Maybe they make them smaller now? Though I would imagine a space craft going into space for quite a while would need to be considerably large to fit all the necessary supplies and personnel. Wouldn't it?

I remain silent as I am steered deeper into the halls of the base. We take a right at the end of a narrow, gray hall on the second floor.

_This can't be right._ The officer opens the door to a small rectangular room. Inside, on the wall adjacent to the entrance is a raised platform. The far wall is stacked with computers from floor to ceiling. In front of that is a raised semi-circle panel covered in knobs, dials, and blinking lights. The three men manning the contraption look up.

"Come in," commands a man in red.

The nurse wheels me forward. I clutch the small box sitting on my lap closer to me. "I am supposed to board the USS Enterprise." I repeat. At this point the nurse nods a farewell and quickly departs.

"Yes, Ms. Luna. They are expecting you. You are the last to board." The two other men in red assist me out of the wheelchair and up the steps to the strange platform. They place my round box atop a circular metallic plate directly beneath a large round light fixture and do the same to me.

"What is this?" I ask while simultaneously questioning my decision to embark on this journey. I feel my knees wobbling under me. I unaccustomed to standing.

"We’re beaming you up. Don't worry, someone is waiting on the ship to assist you to the dispensary. I should hurry. You are looking paler by the minute." The other two officers rush back to the panel and begin pushing buttons.

Before I can protest, the light fixture above me flashes on and the lights in the room flicker. I am engulfed in swirling golden light particles. For a few seconds I feel an odd tingling sensation.

I stand facing a group of different men in a room nearly identical to the one I was just in.

"What was that?" I rub my arms though the tingling sensation ceases as quickly as it began.

"That, my dear, was all the particles in your body being transmitted from one place to another." A middle aged man in blue answers, climbing the platform from the side followed by a younger pointy-eared gentleman. "Delightful, isn't it?" He adds, his voice etched with sarcasm.

My knees buckle. Before I hit the ground, strong hands steady me.

"Doctor, the patient is currently in need of medical assistance, not your endless sarcasm." I tilt my head to look at the man who broke my fall. He has to be a good six feet tall. Dark hair, strong features, upward curving brow, and pointed-ears give him an undeniably handsome appearance.

The fantasy geek inside me switches on and I cannot rip my eyes away from his beautifully sculpted ears. _Elf ears._ I try not to drool.

"Quite right, Mr. Spock." The doctor steers a levitating wheelchair in my direction. "Please, have a seat. I need to get you to sickbay immediately."

Again, the dark haired man, Mr. Spock, helps me to my seat.

"My box!" I don't want to let it out of my sight. Mr. Spock reaches for it and delivers it neatly to my hands. "Thank you."

He nods. "Dr. McCoy will take you from here. Once you are well, please make the time to speak with me. I am the Head Science officer, Mr. Spock. Welcome aboard the starship USS Enterprise." He gives a slight bow and marches off.

The doctor and I take the elevator, or turbolift, to reach his domain. We pass through a long, curved, well lit corridor plastered in a plain, steel paint. Sickbay is located on Deck 5.

"Here we are. My little kingdom." Dr. McCoy adds with a flourish.

I smile.

"There you go!" He beams. "Smiles and laughter are the best medicine, I always say." He helps me onto a metallic bed dressed in orange bed sheets.

"Thank you," I breathe. I am only slightly aware of Dr. McCoy using a medical tricorder on me. In the back of my mind I am glad I insisted on wearing pants. The beds in sickbay are high enough to give any pervert a bird's eye view of panties under a skirt. With this last thought, my consciousness slips into oblivion.

I roll to my side, overly aware of my new surroundings. I look up to study the metallic grey monitor protruding from the wall above my head. The room appears empty except for me. Noting the lack of medical machines, I wonder if it is true I will be receiving the proper medical care. The only thing hooked up to me in sickbay is a stand-alone IV. In the hospital, most of the machines surrounding my bed had been attached to me in one way or another.

I hear a door in the room to my right slide open and shut. "Ms. Luna, glad to see you are awake. I've been reviewing the medical charts sent by the hospital treating you." Dr. McCoy's clear eyes observe me as he continues, "You are making a remarkable recovery. There has been virtually little enduring damage caused to you. From what I can tell, the only long-term ill effect will be on your weakened lungs. But I have hope even that may heal with time and treatment."

"Thank you, Doctor. I'm glad it's nothing too serious."

"Yes. My main concern was for your heart, but that is pumping beautifully." He shoots me a boyish grin and clasps his hands behind his back. "So how are you feeling?

"Fine," I answer honestly. "I still feel really tired and weak, but I notice the difference every day."

"Good, good." A shadow falls on his face as he takes a more serious tone. "Young lady, there is a sensitive subject I must breach with you."

I ask what it is, wondering what could be wrong. He just finished informing me that I am recuperating my health exceptionally well. It takes serious effort not to wring my hands and fidget.

"The Captain has suggested you keep the nature of your origins and your role on this ship private. No one save he, Mr. Spock, and myself have been made privy of the fact that you are the young woman revitalized from the cryogenic state of nearly three centuries. As far as the rest of crew is concerned, you are assisting Mr. Spock on researching Old Earth for a study he is conducting for his home planet, Vulcan."

I process the information. "Why shouldn't anyone know where I'm from?"

"When you are from," he corrects. "It is mostly for your own privacy. You have been made into a media sensation. You are something of a celebrity. The news networks have been in a frenzy trying to get your picture. Thankfully, patient privacy laws have prevented that."

"That didn't stop Starfleet from accessing my records." I remind him.

He makes a sound, something between a chuckle and a cough. "Yes, well." He clears his throat. "I doubt you want the four-hundred some crew members on this ship hounding you for autographs for the remainder of our journey."

I agree.

"It's just about lunch time," he declares. "Nurse Chapel should be arriving any moment now with your meal."

I thank him and he disappears through the opening in the wall and into another section of sickbay.

I lie in the middle of the orange bed wising that for once, I'd get a room with a window. I hear the Doc rustling through papers someplace hidden from my sight.

Remembering my box, I pull myself to a sitting position. The effort leaves me a little woozy, but no worse for wear. My eyes frantically search for my treasure chest. My hunt is cut short when a blond nurse with a swept up bun enters. She wears a short blue dress in the same shade of blue as Dr. McCoy's shirt with the same yellow rocket shaped insignia embellishing the top corner of her uniform.

"Good, you're awake." She ambles toward me with a tray in her hands. A thick green soup and a cup of water is apparently my meal. "Split pea soup. I hope you like it. Dr. McCoy's orders for you is a strict heavy fluids diet. Absolutely no solids."

I know. "Thank you." I stop her before she leaves. "Excuse me, but have you seen a round tan box inlaid with gold and white flowers? I can't seem to find it." I hear the strain in my voice.

"It's right here, sweetie." She bends to reach something underneath my bed. "Here you are. Is that all?"

"Yes. I couldn't see it under me."

She takes her leave and walks out. I debate on whether or not I should open my box here. It contains my prized possessions, everything in it undoubtedly considered historical artifacts or something today. No one is nearby so I decide to reach over and pluck a light square item from inside, careful not to knock over the tray on my lap. Leaning back in a more comfortable position, I flip through my photo album. Something I had been dying to do since waking up in the 23rd century, yet unable to do till today. The hospital had not released my box to me until literally minutes before I was set to leave for the Starbase across the street.

I wouldn't have left without it anyway.

Flipping through photos of Christmas trees and birthday cakes I grow more and more homesick. One particular picture catches my eye. A woman smiles into the camera, her round-dimpled cheeks fuller than usual. She stands beside a noble fir dressed in twinkling lights and golden garlands that sweep across its front with red and gold ornaments dangling from its branches. A golden star tops the festive evergreen. The burgundy long-sleeved blouse my mother wears accentuates her dark hair and light skin. Her eyes are filled with the mirth of the holiday season. I remember her looking over my shoulder after I had snapped her portrait; she had complained about looking chubby. I told her it was all the tamales she'd been eating. She gave me a playful smack and I told her she looked lovely anyway. It was New Year's Eve, 2015.

My breath catches in my throat. It is the last photo in the album. It seems impossible that she is dead. That my little sister and brother are both dead and have been dead for the past couple of centuries.

I heave, but there is nothing in my stomach to return. With trembling hands I quickly shove the photo album back into the box. _They needed the help,_ I remind myself.

I eye the soup still lying on my lap. The delicious aroma that tempted me moments earlier now causes my nose to scrunch in disgust. I shove a couple spoonfuls in my mouth anyway. It tastes like ash, but I am sure my taste buds are not reflecting the soup's true quality. I am surprised, however, that the meal stays in my tummy – though not without complaint.

It is two weeks before Dr. McCoy believes my vitals are stable enough for me to be assigned my own cabin. The doctor requests my quarters be located on Deck 5, the same deck sickbay is located, in order to keep me as near as possible to the Astro-Medical staff.  
Because my cabin is also on the deck normally reserved for Senior Officers, I have the pleasure of having no roommates and a private bathroom.

Doc, as I have nicknamed Dr. McCoy, accompanies me through deck five's corridors. Passing a shut door marked Captain Kirk, James T 3F 121, we stop in front of the following entrance. This door bears my name. Luna, Echo Nicole 3C 123. Doc trails behind me as I venture inside. The small living area of the cabin is furnished with a large desk positioned in front of a built-in shelf. Separated by a half-partition screen is an area dominated by a long twin bed in the standard red-orange and gold checkered bed set. The raised alcove behind the bed is empty. The whole room is empty except for the sparse furnishings consisting of a bed, desk, two chairs, and a computer.

"The walls are gray." At least sick bay had a pale mint-blue paint job. This room, on the other hand, oozes depression.

"Yes, well you can fix up your cabin anyway you like." Doc replies in cheery bravado.

"I don't have much to decorate with," I admit.

"Look, someone has taken the liberty to stock you drawers with a few pairs of clothes . . . an extra bed set and towels," he calls from in front of a rotating drawer I hadn't seen. If you spin it, it disappears and all you see is a solid column where the cylindrical vanity used to be. "There's not much you can do to the wall color, but I'm sure you'll be picking up trinkets all along the expedition. You'll fill this place up in no time.

"That reminds me," he continues. "The chief science officer has inquired about your health. I had the special delight of turning down his request to begin interviewing you. In any case, you can now inform him you are well enough to put up with him, or you may continue to recuperate in peace."

I snort. I don't understand Dr. McCoy's aversion to Mr. Spock. From what I have observed from Doc's and Mr. Spock's encounters, both take extreme delight in stepping on each other's toes. It's really quite funny.

"How do I let him know when I am ready to see him?"

Dr. McCoy shows me the basics of using the computer and how to communicate through it. After assuring Doc I don't need anything else, he leaves me to myself.

I open my flower box on the desk and begin rearranging my meager belongings. My perfume collection is set upon the revolving vanity's surface. The snowy-white and green hat and scarf set my mother knit me this Christmas – or rather the last Christmas I was with them, I place in the fourth drawer along with my crotchet hooks, music player, and handheld camera. Neither of the electronic devices turn on. My recipe folder and notebook, my collection of beautiful journals, and my lyric collection find a home on the shelf behind the computer desk. I also add my sketch portfolio to the row of paper goods. On the shelf the bed rests against I place my photo album within reach. I stroke its kelly green ribbon and admire the soft water color design. I decide against opening it at the moment. Lastly, I place the purple knitted blanket my mom knit a few years ago – or many – at the corner of the bed.

I sigh. Only a few things are left in the box I now prop in the corner against the wall inside the same alcove as my photo album. With this done, I plop into bed and cover myself with my mother's lavender hued gift. I fall asleep breathing in its homey scent. My heart squeaks a pitiful homesick sound. _Daisy. James. Mom._

Waking up, I have no idea what time it is. Not that it matters. I finally push a message through to Mr. Spock using the messaging system Doc showed me.

I wasn't expecting him to arrive so soon.


End file.
